


Wanted Men

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Arguing, Bank Robbery, Codependency, Crimes & Criminals, Dark fic, Drug Abuse, Dubious Ethics, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Oral Sex, Police, Pre-Canon, Swearing, Theft, anger issues, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Life is not like it is in the noir-style movies Michael loves so much.





	Wanted Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gaialux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/gifts).



> Thank you, dearest gaialux for your wonderful prompts and for allowing me to explore this universe. This may well be the most over the top thing I've ever written! My fic takes place in the late 90s/early 00's when Michael and Trevor were still bank robbers, and before 2004 when Michael met Amanda. It's pretty dark, and contains the things you'd expect to find in the GTA universe – I have tried to be thorough with my warnings. Please note that the fic opens with semi-graphic references to a dead body.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this, it was a blast for me to write and I loved getting into the heads of the characters.

Michael watches as Trevor struggles to get the body into the trunk of the beat-up Albany Emperor.

It isn’t even cold yet.

Killing is a necessary evil in their line of work. There are times when it is justified, though this is not one of those times.

Trevor doesn’t practice the same kind of discretion as Michael. He’s so fucking indiscriminate, so disorderly. Michael wishes he wouldn’t pull this kind of shit in broad daylight. Blood seeps down the back of the rusty car, pooling onto the floor, dark red against the asphalt. It fills the air with its nauseating metallic aroma. Michael’s always surprised by how much of it there is, by how one human body can contain such a vast quantity of fluid.

“Did you have to, T?” He sighs, pressing his fingers into his temples. The oppressive humidity of the Midwest summer has dried his throat out, giving his voice a husky quality.

Trevor makes an indescribable noise, somewhere between a growl and a pained scream. This is what happens when he flies into one of his rages.

He is the most dangerous and the most captivating man Michael has ever met.

“T, calm the fuck down.” He stares at him pleadingly.

“The owner of this dirty, trashy motel was a dishonest crook.” Trevor scratches at the broken skin on his hands, and as Michael glances back at him, he can just about make out the bloodstains under his fingernails.

“Get rid of him already,” Michael says.

“How far you think I’m going to get in this rust bucket?” Trevor points at the car.

“Far e-fucking-nough.” He breathes deeply, trying to quell the surge of adrenalin an unhinged Trevor always gives him. “Go. Let me clean this mess up.”  
  
  
  
It’s so humid. A storm must be coming.

Michael tries to concentrate, turning the crisp green dollar bills over in his hands. The smell and the feel of money, so sweet, so satisfying, like the first touch of a new lover. He counts quickly. Eventually, he separates everything into two piles and frowns as he lays them on the bed.

All these years, all these robberies, and they’re still terminally broke.

He tells himself nothing else matters, as long as he and Trevor have each other. They drive from one town to the next, living life on the open road. Cops in these sleepy, rundown little places haven’t got a fucking clue what’s about to hit them when Michael and Trevor roll up in their neighborhood. The concept works well in theory, yet they constantly attract too much heat.

They are fugitives.

Michael sits back and studies their motel room. The paint has peeled away in at least half a dozen places, mold and mildew graces one of the walls. He doesn’t even want to think about the state of the bathroom. A musty smell fills his nose. There’s no wonder he always feels as though he’s about to get sick.

Life is not like it is in the noir-style movies he loves so much.  
  
  
  
There’s a loud bang as Trevor kicks the door open, and walks across their dilapidated living space. His hair stands on end, his face and shirt blackened with soot. To anyone else the sight of him would invoke fear, panic. To Michael, he is home.

“What the hell happened out there?” Michael asks. “Did you get rid of the body?”

“There was… ah… an explosion,” Trevor says. “I know, I know, it freaked me out too.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s gone, Michael. Gone, gone, gone,” he sings the last words almost maniacally.

“Fuck it.” Michael shakes his head. “I don’t even wanna know what you did with that poor guy. You sick fuck.”

Trevor flashes him a toothy grin so menacing it makes his blood run cold. Michael knows this look. All the signs are there. He sees Trevor’s quickened breathing, watches him pace around the room with a nervous energy so potent it’s almost electric.

“Let me see your eyes,” he says.

“What? No.” Trevor waves a hand dismissively.

“Let me see them!”

In an instant Michael is on Trevor, pushing him against the filthy wall. He may be a force of nature, but Michael can still physically overpower him when he needs to. Trevor squeezes his eyes shut, but Michael yanks one of them open.

His pupil is dilated.

Michael tolerates a lot of things. That’s what you do when you love someone – and God, does he love Trevor. This mesmerizing, haunting man, with his military-grade intelligence. He could have made so much more of himself, were it not for his lack of self-control and penchant for violence.

He can’t sit back and watch the meth destroy him.

“You disrespectful asshole.” Michael pulls away, and inwardly he is shaking like a leaf. “You know I hate you using that shit.”

“Well I’m a grown-ass man, and I’ll do what I like.” Trevor snarls. “I don’t get what you’re being so tetchy for.”

“Oh please. You don’t get why _I’m_ so tetchy?” Michael raises his voice, glaring at him. “It isn’t just the drugs. You ruin everything, T.”

“Why is it always _my_ fault?” Trevor slurs, clenching his fists.

“Because you’re a goddamn psychopath!” Michael feels anger raging inside him like a hot tide.

“Well, _that’s_ not very nice.”

“I wanted to stay here,” Michael says. “Just for another couple nights. I’m so fucking tired.”

“Then we’ll stay.”

“How can we?” Michael stares at him, open-mouthed. “We were meant to be keeping our heads down, to blend in, and you go kill the motel owner on our very first day.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Mikey.” Trevor rolls his eyes. “That’s exactly the kinda ridiculous, overblown, reaction I’d expect from you. No one saw me. No one _cares_. People only come to places like this to get high and to fuck strangers.”

“I can’t live like this, T.” Michael’s voice shakes. “Not anymore.”

“You’ve said this before. I call bullshit.”

“This time, I mean it.”  
  
  
  
Hours later, Trevor’s fleeting euphoria turns into tears and despair.

Michael makes sure his expression betrays nothing as he helps Trevor to bed, covering his shaking body. Things will be better again when he’s slept this off, he tells himself. Tomorrow is a new day.

“Please, Michael.” Trevor clenches his jaw as he kicks the covers away. His forehead is slick with sweat, his skin clammy and crimson. “It’s too hot in here.”

“The air con’s bust.” Michael sighs. “I checked a while back.”

“Don’t leave me.” Pitiful, agonizing, sobs erupt from deep within Trevor’s chest. “Not like this.”

“I won’t.”

“But you said…” Trevor’s body begins to tremble. “You said you couldn’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Michael’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Rest up.”

“But Mikey.” Tears flow down Trevor’s cheeks. “You’re the only _real_ family I’ve ever had.”

It’s like a knife is being plunged into him repeatedly, stabbing at his heart. Sometimes, Trevor will talk about his mom, or call her name in his sleep. Michael doesn’t ask about it, doesn’t want to know what suffering Trevor’s endured.

“I can get my shit together, I promise you.”

“I know you can, T.”

“We don’t have to do this forever,” Trevor says pleadingly. “I want us to settle down. We can adopt a kid. Be a proper family.”

Michael freezes on the spot. As much as he loves Trevor, he finds this scenario extremely unlikely.

“Nobody is better than us at what we do.” Trevor looks him in the eye. “With my brains and your muscle, we can take whatever we want. We’ll never worry about money again.”

His mouth is suddenly so dry that Michael finds himself unable to reply.

“Mikey?” Trevor prods at him with an outstretched finger. “We could be one score away from hitting the big time.”

“Yeah, T.” Michael forces himself to nod. “Just one score away.”

He lets out a huge sigh of relief as Trevor finally closes his eyes, and lets sleep take him.  
  
  
  
Michael wakes to find Trevor’s lips around his cock.

Jesus Christ, he’s as hard as steel.

“Oh T…” Michael moans, grabbing a fistful of Trevor’s thinning hair with his fingers. “Don’t stop, baby. Don’t stop.”

His mouth is warm and wet, and when he releases Michael it makes a slick popping sound. His cock twitches, and he aches for more.

“Morning glory, huh?” Trevor smirks at him, eyes promising dark pleasure.

“C’mon gorgeous.” Michael’s voice is full of need. “Don’t make me beg.”

Trevor strokes him with calloused hands, then takes him again, more deeply this time.

These are the moments when Michael forgets the sins of days gone by. Trevor is the center of his life. Trevor is his world. All the terrible things they’ve been through dissipate into nothingness, as though they never happened at all.

Of course he isn’t going to leave him. How could he even think it?

Michael is engulfed in Trevor’s mouth; his cock makes him gag as it hits the back of his throat. Instead of reaching, Trevor just works harder with his licks and his sucks. He doesn’t react when Michael arches his hips up, thrusting against him. It is silently permissible.

He’s always so willing to please. Hell, Michael has paid for a lot of blow jobs, and nothing comes as close to bliss as this. The things Trevor can do with that mouth of his – if only he talked less and sucked him off more.

He comes hard and fast. Trevor eagerly swallows the first burst of semen and then the next, as though consuming it is vital to his existence.

“Oh, _fuck_ yes…”

Michael’s mind is a jumbled mess as pleasure courses through his body. He isn’t thinking coherently, and lights blur against the edge of his vision, flickering wildly.

He knows Trevor is good; he just didn’t know he was good enough to make him damn near pass out. But then he hears the sirens and sees the blue lights flashing through the cheap net curtains.

Michael curses at himself for getting carried away.

“Shit, T!” He leaps to his feet, pulling his boxer shorts up from around his ankles. “It’s the fucking cops!”

“Relax.” Trevor drags the word out in a tone Michael assumes is meant to be soothing, but it isn’t at all. “We got this.”

Michael starts grabbing the essentials – the guns, and the money, stashing them into a duffel bag. He squeezes into his well-worn brown leather jacket.

Trevor is at the back window, forcing it open, a deranged determination in his eyes. At the front, the cops are starting to break down the door.

“Let’s move!” Michael yells, annoyance flooding over him. They’re running away. _A-fucking-gain._

He watches as Trevor jumps out of the window first, bolting towards a blue Patriot pickup truck. Jesus, it better start. Michael follows, throwing the duffel bag out, and then climbs through the window frame.

The sound of the engine roaring is like music to his ears.

Michael has no time to worry about the fact he’s tearing his bare feet to shreds as he jogs across the asphalt. He knows he must keep moving.

“Floor it!” He tells Trevor as he leaps into the passenger seat.

Trevor doesn’t need to be told twice. Soon, they soar along the highway, and Trevor has about as much regard for the rules of the road as he does for preserving human life. The beat-up Patriot is hardly a speed demon, and it doesn’t take long for the cops to be on their tail.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Saliva flies out of Trevor’s mouth, his face reddening.

“Hey, keep your eyes on the road.” Michael turns to look through the rear window. “Shit, they’re getting closer.”

“Can’t you shoot them?”

“There’s too many.” Michael shakes his head.

Trevor takes drastic action. He swerves, sending the vehicle through bollards and onto the wrong side of the carriageway. Michael’s breath is caught in the back of his throat as trucks sound their horns at them and cars duck and dive to avoid them.

It throws the cops, and it buys them some time.

Michael acknowledges with cold clarity that eventually their luck will wear out. One of them will end up in prison, dead, or worse. It’s like they’re a tragedy waiting to happen. He still believes he was made for a life of crime. If he and Trevor are to go down in a blaze of fucking glory, then so be it. How does the saying go?

 _It’s better to burn out than to fade away_.

When he comes out of his stupor, he realizes they've turned off onto a dirt track, surrounded by forest, with a lake at the very end of it.

“We’ll leave her in the water,” Trevor says, tapping on the dashboard. “They’ll think we’ve crashed. Grab your stuff. Be ready to run.”

Michael follows Trevor through a cover of trees so dense that light almost ceases to exist altogether. Eventually, the multitude of screaming sirens fade into the distance. They both collapse onto a damp, mossy floor.

“You got any fucking clue where we are?” Trevor asks.

“Nope.” Michael gasps, still short of breath.

But they defied the odds again. They are still free men. They are still together.

“So…” Trevor turns to him, grinning ominously. “What’s next, partner?”


End file.
